The Hitch in the Hangover
by Fourth Rose
Summary: This is my collection of crack!fics - short standalone stories that are on the humorous, wacky, or sometimes a little naughty side. Basically, anything goes here, and nothing is meant to be taken too seriously...
1. The Hitch in the Hangover

**A/N: I originally set out to write a short, crackalicious one-shot, but I soon realized that Bones!crack is addictive, so there will be more. Therefore, I'm turning this into my little collection of crack!fics - short(ish) standalone stories that are on the humorous, wacky, or sometimes just plain weird side. Basically, anything goes here, and nothing is meant to be taken too seriously ;-)**

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**During the time when we were all speculating about the promo for the upcoming episode 6x13 (The Daredevil in the Mold), Huronia posited the following scenario: _Sweets and Booth get completely wasted and Sweets spends all night touting Daisy's many attributes. Booth, in his drunken stupor, says "hey, she's got long dark hair and she wants to be a forensic anthropologist. close enough" and proposed to Daisy, who promptly accepts, and shatters every window within a block while accepting. This is why Booth looks sad in the promo. He can't believe what he just did._**

**I just had to do something with that...**

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**The Hitch in the Hangover**

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Booth leans heavily against the bridge railing, cradles his pounding head in his hands and seriously considers jumping. What the hell happened last night, and more importantly, how is he going to get out of it (apart from the jumping option, which begins to look more appealing by the minute)?

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_He has no idea how many shots of tequila he's had at this point – he knows tequila always, always means trouble, but tonight, he can't bring himself to care. Sweets mumbles something about not wanting to end up like him, and he tries to act offended, but deep down he knows the kid is right because fuck, his life is a big stinking mess and he's sick of it. So he tells Sweets that he'll buy a ring tomorrow just to shut him up, just so he can go back to watching the room spin in peace, but it's no good, because Sweets prattles on, about how wonderful Daisy is, and how smart and pretty and clever and witty and whatnot, and how she's going to be the world's greatest anthropologist besides Dr. Brennan (the last bit is added hastily after Booth throws him a look, because even drunk Sweets knows not to tempt fate too much), and Booth clutches his shotglass with both hands and thinks, who knows, maybe the kid even has a point, because even if she's not the real deal, she's got long dark hair and she wants to be a forensic anthropologist, and maybe that's close enough._

_.  
_

He doesn't remember much after that – just that at some point, the door opened and one very pissed off Daisy marched into the bar, gave Sweets a shove that pushed the kid right off his barstool, and reminded him that he'd been supposed to pick her up for their date two hours ago and that she was sick of being stood up and given mixed messages and having engagement rings taken from her even after they'd been through her digestive tract, and the last bit sounded so much like something another forensic anthropologist might say that Booth looked up from his tequila, gave her a smoldering look that turned out only slightly cross-eyed, and asked her, "Hey, Daisy, wanna get married?"

"To this? No thanks, I saw the error of my ways in the nick of time." She gave Sweets' prone form a small, disgusted kick and turned her nose up in such a Brennan gesture that he thought it would stop his heart, but instead it made him open his mouth and say, "Nah, not to him, to _me_."

That's where his memory of that night ends – the only thing he still recalls after that line is some kind of ear-piercing screech that probably made the windows crack, but apart from that – nothing.

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But now he's standing here with the mother of all hangovers, a text from Sweets on his phone that reads _4Q_, another one from Daisy he doesn't even understand because of all the _!11!1!_ing, and a message from Brennan on his voicemail that tells him in a cheerful tone that she's happy for him, that she'll take Hannah on a trip to some Aztec excavations in Mexico to help her with an anthropological study on the benefits of human sacrifice that she's wanted to do ever since she first met Hannah, and that she'll invite him and Daisy too in case her initial study proves successful.

Booth stares into the dark, rushing water, thinks of 'everything happens eventually' and realizes, in the immortal words of Jeff Goldblum, that he _does_ hate being right all the time.


	2. The Slipup in the Stakeout

**This one was written for the crackfic challenge over at the LJ comm bitesize_bones. **

**Prompt from Rachg82: **_**Booth & Brennan on a stakeout. Conversation fic. Nothin' but time to kill. Stuff's bound to come up!**_

**Set after episode 6x14 (The Bikini in the Soup)**

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**The Slip-up in the Stakeout**

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"Did you bring any chips?"

"After you threw the last ones out of the window?"

"Booth, that was four years ago, can't you finally let it go?"

"Not when you make it sound like it's my fault that you skipped lunch!"

Huffing. "Fine, forget it, I'll just sit here and hope that I'll die of boredom before I starve to death."

"Jeez, what is it with you tonight? Are you PMSing or something?"

Glare. "Look at that, misogyny trumps prudery!"

"…what?"

"Whenever I so much as allude to the topic of menstruation, you immediately scream TIM…"

"…it's _TMI_, Bones…"

"…but you're suddenly fine with bringing it up if it provides you with a reason to dismiss something I said!"

"Fine, I'm sorry, okay? I promise I'll never ever _allude_ to any topic that has anything to do with your girly bits again!"

"I should punish you by explaining the socio-medical construct of PMS. In _detail_."

Groan. "Can't you just kick me in the nuts instead?"

"Don't tempt me."

Rustling. "Oh look, there's a chocolate bar in the glove compartment…"

"Is that supposed to be a peace offering or another misogynistic insinuation?"

Sigh. "Take your pick, Bones, looks like I'm not gonna win that one."

"In that case, I'll pick the chocolate."

"Can I ask for a bite without fear of losing my fingers?"

Wrapper tearing. "I only bite if someone asks _really_ nicely, Booth."

"…"

"What?"

"Bones…"

Munching. "Oh, don't worry, I remember the choices you gave me for the time being. But you were the one who said that everything happens eventually, weren't you?"

Cautiously, "I guess."

"I have a very good memory, Booth."

"I never doubted that. So what are you telling me? That you'll wait in the sidelines until I'm done moping?"

Stern look. "I never implied that you were 'moping', Booth."

"Sure sounded that way to me."

"I believe this is where Sweets would start talking about projecting."

Belligerently, "Oh, so now you suddenly believe in psychology?"

Soft sigh. "Booth, stop it. I'm neither insulting you nor pressurizing you, I'm merely telling you that I'm not going anywhere."

"…okay."

"Really? We're okay?"

"Bones –"

"I mean, I know you're very much not okay right now, but that's – well, that's okay, Booth. I just need to know – you and me, will we… hold?"

Deep breath. "Haven't we always, Bones?"

Relieved, "Yes, always."

"So that's enough for now, yeah?"

Nod. "Until you stop moping."

"Bones!"

Slow smile. "QED, Booth."

"I don't know what that means."

Surprised pause; then, laughter.

"Nice one, Agent Booth."

Chuckling, "I have my moments, Dr. Brennan."

Wink. "Then I guess I'll just wait for mine."

"You never let up, do you?"

"I learned from someone very dear to me that there are things worth fighting for."

"Aw, really?"

Smirk. "I never said that 'someone' was you, Booth."

Huffing. "Good to know that some things will never change."

Brilliant smile. "Yes, that's what I'm counting on."

Pause.

"Booth? Say something."

"Bones, I believe we've both said enough for the time being."

"You're right; this isn't the time."

"Glad we agree."

"Booth?"

"Hm?"

"Just so you know, as soon as the time is right, I'll be pounding."

"_Pouncing_, Bones. I'll be the one who's doing the pounding."

Silence. Then,

"I can't believe you just said that."

"…yeah, me neither."

Pause.

Sidelong glance. "Booth?"

"Hm?"

"Care to elaborate?"

Pause.

Shifty eyes.

"…I'll get back to you about that."


	3. The Love on the Line

**This one turned out more porny than cracky, so consider yourself warned – it's very much M rated, and maybe even a bit on the kinky side.**

**Written for Rachg82's prompt: **_**Phone sex. B/B. Perhaps Booth needs "help" at the sperm bank. Or they're just horny sometime during season 6 & their defenses are lowered, whatev. Either way.**_

**I went with option #2 – the story is set sometime in the (hopefully near) future of the show…**

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**The Love on the Line**

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"Booth."

"Hi, it's me."

"Bones, hi – is everything okay? Isn't it the middle of the night over there? Where are you?"

"I'm fine, Booth; I'm calling from my hotel room."

"So how are you? How's the conference going?"

"I don't want to talk about work."

"Bones, are you sure you're all right? You sound kinda strange."

"I can't do it anymore, Booth."

"…what do you mean? Are you -"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you – I'm not talking about our relationship."

"Okay, that's a relief."

"I'm talking about our decision to go slowly as far as the physical aspect of it is concerned."

"You thought it was a good idea."

"Rationally, I still think it is, but – I'm afraid I've reached a point where I'm not thinking rationally any more."

"Bones – "

"It's a perfectly natural reaction, of course – considering our strong emotional connection and the fact that I've always found you extremely physically appealing, I expected my body chemistry to adjust accordingly, and I was able to deal with it while I was in your presence because I managed to focus on the emotional aspect of our relationship. But now that I haven't seen you in more than a week…"

"Wait a bit – you're calling to tell me that you're _horny_?"

"To such a degree that I can't concentrate on my work anymore, Booth, and that's just not acceptable."

"And you called me to tell me this – why?"

"To be honest, I thought you'd be a little more flattered."

"Uh, I am, I guess… it's just that I don't see what I can do about it right now, what with me being on the other side of the Atlantic?"

"I knew I could count on you to help me out."

"I – what? Did I just agree to something?"

"I thought that was obvious."

"Bones, just to make sure I'm getting this right – you're calling me from your hotel room in the wee hours of the morning because you want…"

"I believe the technical term is 'phone sex', even though there's no actual intercourse involved."

"…"

"Booth? Please say something."

"…oh my."

"Does that mean you agree?"

"You're going to run up one hell of a phone bill."

"It's probably still cheaper than employing the services of an escort agency, don't you think?"

"Not funny, Bones."

"Plus, it might be tricky to expense a rentboy."

"Bones, stop it already! You win, okay?"

"You mean you'll do it?"

"Whatever you want, as long as you promise never to talk about rentboys again. Just give me a moment…"

"What are you doing?"

"Um – locking the door?"

"Oh – I didn't expect you to have Parker during the week."

"Don't worry about it. So, erm – what exactly do you want me to do?"

"I want you to tell me about your favorite sexual fantasy."

"Bones, that's – that's one hell of a personal request!"

"Too personal for two people who are about to enter a physical relationship?"

"Okay, point taken. Still – Bones, I'm not that much into dirty talk."

"You mean you don't like it, or you're not used to your partner asking for it?"

"Second option, I guess."

"Well, then I suppose it's time you start getting used to it, because I tend to be vocal about my sexual desires."

"…yeah?"

"You read my books, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I thought that part was mostly Angela."

"Booth, Angela makes suggestions, she doesn't write my books!"

"So… does that mean that I already know _your_ fantasies?"

"Just the heavily edited version."

"…oh God."

"Booth, are you still there?"

"Yeah, sure."

"I don't think you'd be comfortable with hearing my uncensored fantasies at this point in our relationship – but if you're willing to tell me about yours, I promise that in return, I'll give you a detailed description of what I'm doing while I'm listening to you."

"Oh God."

"You just said that. Would it be easier for you if I got us started?"

"…I guess?"

"Okay, just let me put you on speaker… there. I'm currently in bed, wearing nothing but that old Flyers t-shirt you left at my apartment a few years ago."

"You still have it?"

"I wear it to bed quite often these days – I like the idea of feeling something that has been in direct contact with your bare skin against mine. Plus, it reaches down to my thighs, so I don't need panties underneath."

"Oh…"

"Besides, panties would only get in the way right now. I'm going to leave your t-shirt on, though – I'm currently stroking my breasts through the fabric, and I like the way it caresses my nipples."

"…"

"Was that enough to get you in the mood?"

"Uh… yeah. So you really want my favorite wanking fantasy, right down to the dirty details?"

"_Especially_ the details, Booth. Where does this fantasy take place?"

"In my apartment – I'm in my leather recliner, you know, the one I got from Pops when he moved into the retirement home?"

"Yes, I know. What are you wearing?"

"Just a pair of boxers, and… I'm feeling pretty horny, and I'm considering whether I should just jerk off then and there or hit the shower, but then the door opens, and you storm in all huffy and worked up because there's something I did …"

"Can you specify?"

"Nah, it doesn't matter – the only thing that matters is that you're standing there glaring daggers at me with your mouth all pinchy and your hands on your hips. You're wearing your lab coat and those granny glasses from the case on the airplane, remember? And you've got your hair done up in that no-nonsense scientist way, but then you shake it out and take off the glasses, and you're stalking towards me like a cat on the prowl…"

"Still in my lab coat?"

"Oh yes."

"I'm running the fingers of my right hand through my pubic hair now… it's a little damp already. Are you all right, Booth? You sound as if you have trouble breathing."

"Yeah, uh, everything's fine. Where's… I mean, what are you doing with your left hand?"

"It's under your t-shirt, touching my breast and scratching my thumbnail over my nipple."

"You like that?"

"Very much."

"Duly noted. Okay, moving on – you're walking towards me, and you're not saying a word, you just have that glint in your eyes that tells me I'd better not cross you. You're going pretty fast – you're pulling my boxers down and straddling me in the chair before I really know what's happening. I'm reaching for your lab coat, but you slap my hands away and just hitch it up –"

"Am I wearing anything underneath?"

"Not a stitch, and I'm just staring and hoping you'll touch me or something, but you brace yourself against my shoulders and… basically just impale yourself on my cock."

"So you're hard?"

"God, yes, and you – you're so tight, and wet…"

"I find I'm extremely wet already, Booth – I'm rubbing my clitoris with the fingers of my left hand and run the fingers of my right hand around the opening of my vagina, and it's all wet and slippery…"

"Bones, you're _killing_ me here."

"In your fantasy?"

"Yeah, there too – because you barely move, you just clench your muscles around me and tell me this is just to get me in the mood, but not yet to get me off, and then you get up and take my hand to pull me out of the recliner."

"I'm sliding two fingers into my vagina… three now, because I love the sensation of my vaginal walls being stretched – and I've seen you naked, so I know you'll have no trouble doing that once I finally get to feel you inside me."

"Bones…"

"I need you to keep talking, Booth."

"Okay, right – so now you're sitting in the recliner, or sprawling, really, with your arms above your head and your knees spread wide…"

"And my lab coat still hitched up?"

"Oh yes – it's not at all ladylike, but it's hotter than hell. I get rid of my boxers and kneel between your legs, and you finally let me undo the buttons, and there's nothing but skin underneath. Your breasts – you've got the most perfect breasts I've ever seen in my life, Bones, and I touch them and kiss them and take the nipples in my mouth… and you tell me in that deep, throaty voice that you want me to taste all of you, so I'm kissing my way down your chest and stomach down to – to your pussy, and you start moaning when I run my tongue over your clit, and then I push my thumbs inside you and hold you open while I suck your clit, and you grab two fistfuls of my hair and tell me to go faster because you're _that_ close to coming…"

"I definitely am, Booth – I've turned around and am now lying on my stomach, rocking against the heel of my hand, and I'm holding on to the headboard with the other hand to give myself better leverage because I need more pressure, more friction – I'm so wet at this point that I can feel it trickling down the inside of my thighs…"

"Bones, baby, let me hear you come – imagine it's my hands touching you…"

"I – oh God, oh _yes_…"

"Jesus, that's the hottest thing I've ever heard in my life."

"I promise… it will be much better… once you don't have to hear it over the phone."

"Do you have any idea how it gets to me to hear you talking in that breathless voice?"

"I find… that I'm in dire need of oxygen right now, Booth – it was a very intensive climax, but we're just getting started."

"You mean you want another right away?"

"Most healthy women who are sexually uninhibited and know their own bodies well are capable of multiple orgasms, Booth."

"And suddenly I wish I was a woman."

"Really?"

"Nope, unless I could be a lesbian so that I'd still get to have sex with you. – Are you laughing at me?"

"I'm laughing, but not at you, Booth. I didn't mean to break the mood – "

"Nah, it's okay, I want to savor this… because, you know, I'm not a woman, so I can't just keep going if I finish too soon."

"Are you saying that you're mas-"

"Bones, can we _please_ lay off the clinical terms for now? I'm sitting here with my pants around my knees and my hand around my dick, cut me some slack!"

"Oh."

"What, you thought I'm doing paperwork while I listen to you getting yourself off?"

"I wasn't really thinking about it, but I admit that I prefer the idea of you getting some gratification out of this too. Can we go back to your fantasy now, please? I've put a pillow under my hips and am now rubbing myself against it, and the fabric feels really nice against my skin…tell me how you achieve orgasm in your fantasy."

"I – uh…"

"Booth, you should know by now that I'm very open-minded when it comes to sex, so whatever it is, you can tell me."

"Okay, I – you're sitting up, still panting and shaky from coming so hard, and then you bend down and lick up the length of my cock from base to head, and it almost melts my brain that you're tasting yourself on my cock… and I think you're about to go down on me for real, but instead you slide out of your seat and turn around, so that you're kneeling on the floor with your upper body resting on the recliner…"

"…and my ass in your face…"

"Yeah, pretty much – and you tell me to fuck you so hard that you can't walk straight for a week."

"Will you do that when I come back, Booth? Fuck me so hard I can't walk straight?"

"God, baby, anything you want… I'm kneeling behind you, and – you see, I know that in reality this needs some preparation, but it's a fantasy, okay? So I push inside – you know, from behind…"

"You enjoy anal sex?"

"I, well – I only tried it once… I mean, Rebecca wanted to try it, and it turned out she didn't like it much, but – yeah, it was incredible."

"It stands to reason that you would find it stimulating, considering that the rectum is much tighter than the vagina. Why did you just do it once, if you enjoyed it so much?"

"Apart from that one time with Rebecca, none of the women I've been with suggested it, and… I guess I never had the nerve to ask for it."

"We'll have to work on your hesitancy to express your desires."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Besides, plenty of women enjoy anal penetration."

"You mean you do?"

"None of my former sexual partners was amenable to the idea, but I'm definitely willing to give it a try."

"Bones, I'm not going to last any longer if you keep saying stuff like that."

"That's fine, Booth – I'm almost there again, so keep talking. You – you're pushing inside…"

"All the way, until my balls are pressed against your ass – and then I pull out again and start fucking you in earnest, and you trash about and tell me to go faster, harder… and I reach around to touch you, to press my fingers against your clit…"

"Just like I'm doing now – keep talking, Booth, I'm – ohhhhh…"

"Oh God – I can feel you clenching all over, and you're screaming my name, and then I'm coming too, so hard that I… that I almost… oh God, _Bones_…"

"Booth?"

"…yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"Never better, baby, just a little shaky. That was – wow."

"Very much so."

"You all right, Bones?"

"Definitely, although I guess I need a shower before I'll be able to sleep."

"Yeah, I could use one too – I'm drenched in sweat."

"You're still in your clothes? Why don't you just take them off?"

"That's probably… not such a good idea."

"Why?"

"Because my horny genius got the time difference wrong."

"…you mean you're still at work?"

"Yep."

"Please tell me you're not at your desk."

"Locked myself in one of the observation rooms – you know, soundproof and with all the recording equipment trained on the room next door."

"Your presence of mind is remarkable."

"Especially considering that there wasn't much blood left in my brain at the time. Stop giggling, it's not funny."

"It is from where I'm sitting, Booth. Well, lying, really, because I think I'll need a few more minutes until I can get up."

"Tell me about it – too bad I have a meeting with Hacker in fifteen, so I'd better get cleaned up."

"Booth?"

"Yes?"

"We're done 'taking it slow' now, aren't we?"

"Oh yes, definitely."

"When I come back next week, I want you to pick me up at the airport, take me home and screw my brains out."

"Count on it, Bones."


	4. The Barbie in the Box

**A/N: This one's probably the crackiest of the lot so far, and it contains some rather dark humor, so proceed with caution if you're easily offended by such things. (Although I somehow doubt that there are many 'Bones' fans who can't handle jokes about murder&mayhem…)**

**There's a teensy allusion to a spoiler for a future episode, but I'm 100% certain you won't get it if you don't already know about that spoiler.**

**Written for ****Tempertemper's prompt in the bitesize_bones crack!fic challenge. The prompt kinda spoils the main point of this fic, so I'm putting it after the story.**

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**The Barbie in the Box**

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Booth hummed under his breath (out of tune as always) while he made his way to Bones' office. It was half past seven in the evening and therefore time to drag her away – applying physical force, if necessary – from the bones she was currently playing with to make sure she got some food into her before the more _interesting_ part of the evening started. Oh yes, life was good these days – they'd been together for almost four months, and so far no major catastrophes had thrown any more roadblocks into the path of their relationship, as if some unseen, malignant force that had been working against them for years had finally thrown up its hands in frustration and admitted defeat.

Even Hannah had given up for good a few months ago, which in retrospect seemed like its own small miracle. A few weeks after their break-up, she'd started calling him again, insisting that she missed him and wanted another chance with him, and she wouldn't give up no matter how often Booth told her that he'd had enough of having his heart ripped out and torn to shreds before his eyes, thank you very much. He'd breathed a sigh of relief when she finally took another job overseas – closer to those fig trees, he thought with a whiff of vindictiveness he couldn't quite help – and was finally able to fully focus his attention on Bones, who seemed to have gotten over her fear of relationships (for real this time) and went about having one with him with the steely determination and single-minded resolve that was her MO whenever she'd set her sights on a goal. Booth, past heartaches and smarting ego notwithstanding, hadn't been able to resist any more than a moth can resist a brightly burning flame – he was prone to addiction, after all, and all things considering he could have (and had) done much worse than being hooked on Temperance Brennan.

He'd suffered a few sleepless nights when a few months ago, Cam took him aside and told him that she'd run into Hannah, who had admitted that she'd returned stateside for another attempt at winning him back. Cam, who knew a woman on a mission when she saw one, had warned him that Hannah seemed determined to do whatever it took to get what she wanted, and Booth (who remembered only too well how she used to get when things didn't go her way) almost wasn't able to concentrate on his first "official" date with Bones for fear of what an ex on the warpath might do to his blossoming romance with the one woman who now seemed willing _not_ to send him packing the moment things got serious.

Thankfully, his fears had proven unfounded – Hannah had never shown, had never even contacted him again, so perhaps the "piece of her mind" Cam said she'd given her had gotten through after all (Booth knew what a piece of Cam's mind could do to you, having been on the receiving end of more than one of those pieces). After another week or so, he'd finally begun to relax – and then, after their third date (because, she told him earnestly, it was the socially acceptable norm for not being considered "easy"), Bones had dragged him into her apartment to have her wicked way with him, effectively keeping him from wasting any more thoughts on any other woman in his past, present, or future.

All those things flashed through Booth's mind during the last few steps to Bones' door (it was amazing how much introspection a guy could cram into a few seconds when it was exposition time), but he promptly forgot about them once he burst into her office and saw her packing a heap of oddly discolored bones into a box on her desk. He knew quite well what it meant, and even though she was – had been, and would always be – the love of his life, he wasn't going to pass up a perfectly good opportunity for a little teasing.

"Giving up on the Barbie case, Bones?"

She shot him a look that would have sent a lesser man running for the hills. "You know I don't appreciate that moniker, it's chauvinistic and lacks respect for the remains of a human being."

Booth shrugged. "You can only have so many Jane Does, can you? Besides, she looked like a Barbie doll in Angela's reconstruction."

"The skull was in extremely bad shape," Brennan reminded him coolly, as if he'd somehow insulted the abilities of her team. "The mandible was smashed so badly that I wasn't able to fully reassemble it, the teeth have been all but pulverized, rendering dental records useless, and several pieces of the rest of the skull are missing altogether, so it was to be expected that Angela's reconstruction would turn out somewhat generic."

"Someone took a sledgehammer to her head?" He should have known what reaction his attempt to come up with a likely scenario would get him, but he couldn't help it.

"That's pure conjecture, Booth! Hodgins wasn't able to identify the chemical substance the bones were exposed to, only that it removed any particulates that might have helped us identify a weapon, dissolved the surface of the bones and destroyed any DNA that Cam might have been able to identify. Also, he said that strontium isotopes were inconclusive – either the victim has been on the move for most of her life, or the chemical treatment of the bones affected those findings as well. I can't properly date the bones – the victim might have been dead for a month or for ten years, there's no way to narrow it down. I can't even be sure about the cause of death, because I'm unable to ascertain whether the damage to the skull happened ante- or post-mortem. I'm utterly stumped, and given that your investigation turned up nothing, so are you."

Trust her to remind him that he, too, was part of the fail parade. "We haven't been able to find the courier who delivered the package with the bones to the Jeffersonian – the night watchman who accepted the delivery gave a description, but it led nowhere, and there were no fingerprints on the package except those of the watchman, so what do you expect me to do?"

She sighed, her shoulders slumping in a rare show of resignation. "Nothing, Booth; you did all you could, and so did we. We even consulted with the FBI labs, but they're as clueless as we are. Perhaps there is something to Hodgins' theory that some government agency sent us those bones to test our abilities, but if they did, we've failed the test."

"Hey, come on, Bones." Booth reached over her desk to place a soothing hand on her arm, and the fact that she let him was testament to her frustration about the case. "Don't you start listening to Hodgins now – nobody's testing you, and even the greatest genius in the world can't always solve everything."

"I know." She gave him a grateful little smile. "Besides, I'm the leading authority in my field, so if I can't solve this case, nobody can."

Skies might fall and oceans turn to blood, Booth mused, but Temperance Brennan's ego would hold firm even in the face of the apocalypse. With that thought came the urge to needle her a little.

"That makes you my prime suspect, I guess."

Bones raised her eyebrows as if he'd suggested giving up her career in anthropology in favor of becoming a pole dancer at a night club in Vegas (although he probably shouldn't give her ideas, considering how much she'd enjoyed their stint at the circus.) "How so?"

Booth gave her the cockiest smirk he could manage. "Weren't you the one who told me that you'd be able to commit the perfect murder? That's practically a confession, you know."

"Don't be ridiculous." She went back to placing the bones in the box, handling them with more care and gentleness than most people handled their newborn children. "I don't have the expertise to chemically mutilate bones in a way that would stump Hodgins."

Booth clucked his tongue. "Yeah, I forgot about that. Okay, you're off the list, and I don't have any other ideas, so I guess it's time to ship her off to limbo."

"That's what I'm doing right now." Bones pointed at the box that now held all the bones except the skull, which was still sitting on a pile of papers on her desk and grinning at Booth with that eerie, socket-y leer that skulls have, causing him to frown in confusion.

"Didn't you say the skull was too damaged to reconstruct? Because that one looks pretty good."

The remark earned him another of those blood-curdling looks he still wasn't fully immune to. "Booth, you've been working with me for years, and you still can't tell real bones apart from an imitation?"

Booth reached for the skull and weighed it in his hand, then went to strike a Hamlet pose that would have given Gordon Gordon the vapors. "Are you telling me it's made of plastic? Looks like the real thing to me."

Bones snatched the skull out of his hands and cradled it protectively to her chest, providing it with a fine view down her cleavage that – in Booth's humble opinion – could have been put to better use if she'd chosen the _living_ person in the room as the recipient. "It's acrylic. Since I couldn't reassemble the real skull, Angela made this as the basis for her facial reconstruction, but since there's so much data missing, there was a lot of guesswork involved." She made 'guess work' sound like an obscenity that would force her to wash out her mouth with soap.

"What are you going to do with it? Plastic bones don't belong into limbo."

"It's bone storage, Booth," she finally corrected him; he'd been surprised already that she'd let the term pass the first time he'd used it. "You're right, though; I guess we'll just keep it for teaching purposes and suchlike."

"Or Halloween," Booth suggested with a grin. "Hey, you know what, Bones? You should keep it on your desk as a paperweight."

She made a face. "That seems tasteless."

"Hey, it's not like it's real – and it might do you good to keep it around as a reminder that even a bunch of geniuses can't find a solution to _every_ problem."

This time, he got the full megawatt version of her glare – and no matter how long he'd known her, _that_ kind of look got to any guy who preferred his balls still attached to his body. He nervously adjusted the famous buckle on his belt without fully realizing what he was doing – it was an instinct, bred into him by generations of Catholic ancestors who had reached for their sacred amulets in times of need, and this definitely qualified as one.

Bones watched him squirm for a moment before her glare dissolved into a smirk. "You seem a little uncomfortable, Booth. Is it laundry day again?"

"Okay, enough of that." Booth knew when it was time to cut his losses. "You're done wrapping up Barbie, Bones? Because I could really do with some dinner now."

She didn't admonish him again for the use of the moniker, which could only mean that she, too, was ready to call it a day. "I'll be with you in a moment; let me just get my purse and coat and lock up."

.

* * *

Brennan took one last look around her office, finding everything in order. The bones were neatly packed away, ready for one of her interns to pick them up in the morning and put them into bone storage; Angela's acrylic model of the skull was still sitting on her desk, and the longer she thought about it, the more she liked Booth's suggestion that she should keep it as a reminder of this case.

Booth was waiting for her outside the door, but her back was to him, so he couldn't see the small smile on her face as she pondered his assumption that there were things her team couldn't do. She remembered Cam's indignant scowl, Hodgins' almost giddy excitement, and Angela's sweet smile that had a hint of steel to it. _Flesh is my business, Dr. Brennan, so kindly leave it to me… Dude, I've wanted to test this formula for years, and I'd like to see the FBI labs crack that one… Sweetie, if Homeland Security knew the places I can hack into, they'd hire me instead of arresting me – so if anyone looks, they'll be looking on the wrong continent._

You do things for family – one more of Booth's gems of wisdom that had proven true, even though she wasn't going to complain that circumstances prevented her from admitting to him he'd been right again.

Her smile widening, Brennan opened the door and stepped out of her office. Booth was leaning against the banister and tapping his foot while he waited for her, and although his constant impatience often annoyed her, right now it served to remind her that there were indeed things worth fighting for, even if that fight might take you down unexpected paths sometimes. Turning back to lock the door, she cast one last look at the box on her desk and whispered under her breath (low enough for Booth not to hear it), "Bye, Barbie."

_._

* * *

**A/N: Tempertemper****'s prompt: **_**Whole cast – people are always saying that the Jeffersonian crew could perform/cover up the perfect murder – what happens when they have to?**_


	5. The Truth in the Tequila

**A/N: Smut alert! This ficlet was written for the ****"Sextember" ficathon at ****the LJ community bones_ga; the prompt was ****"****Cam and Brennan get drunk together and start discussing Booth's… skills. In loving detail.****"**

**By the way, I noticed that smutty stories tend to get more hits, but fewer reviews, so if you read the story, I'd appreciate it very much if you could drop me a line to let me know what you thought. No need to be shy ;-)  
**

**And now, without further ado,**** a pathologist and an anthropologist walk into a bar…**

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* * *

**The Truth in the Tequila**

.

.

Cam eyed the amber liquid in her shot glass for a moment before knocking it back. "You know," she said with a grimace as she put it down and signaled the bartender for a refill, "I wasn't really planning to get wasted tonight."

"Angela says life is what happens while you're making other plans." Brennan downed her own shot and coughed as it seared her throat. She used to have a high alcohol tolerance, but she'd only stopped breastfeeding a month ago, so she was a bit… what was the adequate sports metaphor for it? She turned around to ask Booth, only to remember belatedly that he was at home baby-sitting.

"Makes you wonder what kind of plans she was making in the first place." Cam sniggered at her own joke; obviously Brennan wasn't the only one who was getting a little tipsy. "Oh boy, we really should slow down…"

"I suppose we should." Brennan had been about to lift the refilled shot glass that the bartender had just put in front of her, but now she lowered her hand again. "I wouldn't want you to start vomiting all over me, I get enough of that at home at the moment."

"I don't vomit." There was a hint of smugness in Cam's tone. "Never."

"That's highly unlikely, unless –" Brennan paused, a memory rising out of the alcohol fumes that currently enveloped her brain. "Oh yes, of course, you don't have a gag reflex."

"How do you… oh, that _rat bastard_!" Cam's eyebrows shot up as realization seemed to dawn. "He _told_ you about that?"

From the look of it, Brennan had just committed a social gaffe, although she wasn't sure why Cam was so upset. "If you mean that Booth mentioned your exceptional talent for oral sex that is a result of this specific deficiency, then yes, he told me." She paused for a moment, considering what she'd just said. "Now that I think about it, that was probably a little indiscreet of him."

"Ya think?"

"That's what I just said," Brennan answered, somewhat bewildered. "Would it make you feel better if I informed you that he was highly appreciative of this particular skill of yours?"

"Oh great, so he shared the details too." Cam lifted her glass again, obviously deciding that she wasn't drunk enough for this conversation. "I guess expecting a guy not to blab about his bedroom adventures really is like asking a cock not to crow at sunrise."

Brennan burst into giggles; for some reason, the image of crowing cocks seemed hilariously funny in the context of this conversation. Cam shot her a dark look, but then she started grinning too. "Not quite so prudish after all once you get him warmed up a little, is he?"

It took Brennan a while to regain enough of her composure to answer. "I'm not sure Booth would want me to discuss this with you."

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask him to go around advertising my cocksucking skills either!" Cam leaned in until Brennan could see the predatory glitter in her eyes up close. "So, spill!"

Brennan deliberated for a moment, remembering Booth's 'What's between us is ours' – but Cam had a point, and besides, it wasn't as if Booth had always kept his mouth shut about things that Brennan hadn't wanted him to share. In the end, she could always blame the tequila.

"Okay." Lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, she admitted, "I was rather surprised at first – considering Booth's usual reaction when the topic of sex came up in conversation, I expected him to be somewhat…"

"Vanilla?"

"I was going to say 'uptight', but I suppose that works too. However…"

"Not so much, eh?" Cam gave her a lascivious wink. "Is he still doing that thing with his thumbs?"

"You mean with both thumbs inside during cunnil–"

"Yep, that." Cam waved her empty glass around until she caught the bartender's attention. "I always meant to thank Rebecca; he says she's the one who taught him that."

Brennan started giggling again. "Should we give her a call and thank her together?"

Cam almost snorted tequila out of her nose. "Or we could call Tessa and ask her to chip in for a card."

"Hannah too?" Brennan asked without thinking, although she found the effect somewhat sobering. Resolutely, she reached for her own refilled glass.

Cam made a face. "How about let's not."

"I thought you liked her!" Brennan wasn't sure whether she felt outraged or relieved.

"Are you kidding me?" Cam rolled her eyes until she had to clutch the sides of her barstool for support. "I played nice for Seeley's sake, but she got on my last nerve. I'm his oldest friend, I couldn't very well tell him that he looked like midlife crisis personified next to the girly wonder."

"You want me to tell him that?" It was probably just the tequila talking, but Brennan felt seriously tempted to follow through on the offer, even if it would mean living with a sulking baby for a week (which in turn might upset her daughter as well).

"You'd better not, unless you want to go without the topic of our discussion for a while."

Brennan couldn't quite suppress the self-satisfied smirk. "Not happening."

"Ah yes, the man sure knows how to do angry sex." Cam looked nostalgic for a moment. "Ever picked a fight just to get him all worked up?"

"I never had to, it happens all by itself quite frequently." Brennan pondered this, then added, "It's probably a good thing too, because he tends to treat me like I'm made of glass when he's _not_ mad at me."

Cam grimaced. "Downside of the White Knight Syndrome."

"I'm not a damsel in distress." It was Brennan's turn to lean in. "Besides, he _really_ likes the submissive part once we get to the handcuffs and blindfolds."

Cam almost fell off the barstool. "Seriously? You break out the handcuffs in bed?"

Brennan shrugged. "Well, he already has them, it only seems logical."

"Wow." Cam sounded downright awed. "I mean, he always was a fantastic lay, but I never thought he'd go kinky."

"He needed a little convincing at first," Brennan admitted. "I've always enjoyed role play, though, and once I got him to confess that one of his favorite fantasies included me in a lab coat and a pair of high heels on an office desk, I took things from there. It turned out that with sufficient inspiration, he can be quite creative." She snickered a little when she continued, "I doubt the FBI would approve of the interrogation techniques we've come up with, for example."

"Oh my." Cam fanned herself with a napkin. "Now I'm almost sorry that I actually preferred good old missionary when I was with him because that way I could keep my hands on his ass."

Brennan got a faraway look in her eyes. "His gluteus maximus is definitely well-developed."

"I'll say." Cam cast a glance over her shoulder to see if the bartender was safely out of earshot. "You ever tried the trick with the finger inside – you know, _during_?"

"What, you mean, inserting a finger into his anus while we're having sex?"

Cam nodded vigorously. "The first time I did it he came so hard that he almost blacked out on top of me."

"Interesting." Brennan filed this information away for further (and sober) consideration. "It stands to reason, I suppose; most men find direct stimulation of their prostate gland highly arousing, although it's not a standard feature during heterosexual intercourse."

Cam winced. "Better leave out the 'heterosexual' tidbit around him."

"You're probably right – Booth isn't homophobic, but the implications might still make him a little uncomfortable."

"Besides, I doubt he wants to hear all those big words while he's trying to get it on with you."

"Oh, you'd be surprised." Brennan gave her a lopsided wink. "He's actually quite into what he calls 'squint speak' in bed."

"Now she tells me." Cam sighed. "Here I am with my medical degree, and I never thought of using it for dirty talk."

"Paul doesn't…?"

"Yikes!" Cam hastily flagged down the bartender for another refill. "You know what Paul does for a living, don't you? You really believe that I want him to think about work while we're fucking?"

Brennan made a face. "I concede your point."

"I bet." Cam knocked back her drink, wheezing a little as it went down. "Don't get me wrong, I'm pretty happy with Paul, but sometimes I can't help missing the Little Agent."

"Who is – oh, I see, you mean that as a euphemism for Booth's penis." When Cam merely grinned, Brennan considered it necessary to add, "It's inaccurate, however; Booth is well above average –"

"Yeah, that kinda was my point." Cam gave her a playful nudge that almost made Brennan lose her balance. "I mean, he may not be good for five rounds per night any longer like he was back when we first met, but if we're talking staying power…"

"He certainly puts his physical prowess to good use," Brennan agreed. "And he keeps himself in shape, which isn't always the case with men his age."

Cam's eyebrows shot up. "Let me guess – you actually told him that, didn't you?"

"Of course I did." Brennan was a little baffled that Cam would even have to ask. "Booth doesn't feel insecure about his body, but I still want him to know that I find him physically attractive."

"And you chose to do so by reminding him that guys in their forties usually go flabby and pot-bellied?"

"That wasn't quite the wording I used." Brennan's smirk was more than a little dirty. "Let me just say that I expressed my attraction in a way that he greatly appreciated."

"You said it when you came up for air during a blow job?"

Brennan frowned. "How do you know?"

It was Cam's turn to smirk. "Because he doesn't hear a word you say while your mouth is anywhere near his dick."

Brennan's frown deepened. "You think so?"

"Trust me." Cam reached out to pat Brennan's hand, although her depth perception was a bit off, resulting in a near-miss. "Don't worry about it, Seeley has always been very fond of non-verbal compliments."

Brennan was still doubtful. "He's usually quite vocal in sexual situations."

"Ah yes, I remember." Cam's nostalgic expression was back. "I don't know about you, but it always turned me on like whoa to hear Mr. Former Altar Boy whisper words in my ear that would have given his confessor a heart attack."

After a bit of fumbling, Brennan brandished her cell phone with a triumphant grin. "Wanna sprint your memory?"

"No way." Cam snatched the phone out of Brennan's hand like a hawk swooping down on its prey. "He sends you X-rated texts? That's new – I mean he… wow." She quickly scrolled through the messages, her eyes growing wider with every word she read. "He has definitely expanded his vocabulary."

Brennan's grin turned smug. "Well, I'm a bestselling author for a reason."

"Holy shit." Cam handed the cell phone back and reached for her purse. "If you don't mind, Dr. Brennan, I really need to go now. I mean, it has been nice chatting with you, but I'm beginning to feel a bit…"

"…horny?"

Cam seemed taken aback for a moment, but then she dissolved into giggles. "I guess Paul won't know what hit him."

"I know what you mean." Brennan squirmed a little in her seat. "I'm afraid I'll find Booth passed out on the couch after an evening alone with the baby, though."

Cam slid off the barstool and stood with a barely perceptive wobble. She shoved a few bills in the general direction of the bartender and then turned to give Brennan a friendly pat on the shoulder. "You'll find a way to wake him."

Brennan raised her empty shot glass in a mock salute. "Count on it."


	6. Counterstrike

**A/N: Written for the bones_ga Sextember ficathon; the prompt was: "****The FBI requires a return to therapy in order for Booth and Brennan to be in a relationship and remain partners. Sweets insists on a conversation about their sex life. What do Booth and Brennan tell him?"**

.

* * *

**Counterstrike**

.

.

Brennan raised her eyebrows in surprise when she entered Dr. Sweets' office and found it empty except for her partner, who sat sprawled on the couch with a smug little smile on his face. Considering how on edge had been ever since Sweets had dropped this particular bombshell on them, she definitely hadn't expected to see Booth so utterly relaxed now that the moment he'd been dreading had actually arrived.

"Am I late?" It was a rhetorical question – she never would have let him walk into the metaphorical lion's den without her.

"Nope, right on time." Booth flashed her his best cocky grin, enticing her to sit down next to him and wipe it off his face with a quick kiss.

Pulling back, Brennan looked around with an air of slight confusion. "Where's Sweets? Given that he forced us into this in spite of our clearly stated unwillingness to let him pry into our personal lives, it seems very rude of him to make us wait on top of everything else."

"Oh, he was here before." The self-satisfied smirk was back on Booth's face. "And he was so psyched that he looked close to wetting himself, so I figured I might just as well get started right away before he'd need a change of underwear."

Brennan's eyebrows climbed even higher. "You voluntarily started discussing the topic of our _sex life_ with Sweets? And without me present?

"Yep." Booth's smirk was almost splitting his face in two by now. "I didn't get very far, though, because he ran out on me."

Dr. Temperance Brennan was not only a genius, she also knew her partner (no longer "just", thank you very much) too well not to understand that something was up. "And what, exactly, did you do to make Dr. Sweets flee the room?"

"Oh, nothing much." Booth's face was pure innocence now, which – in Brennan's experience – always spelled trouble. "I just may have let slip that you're very much into heavy BDSM and also have a thing for poly, and that I'm currently trying to prove that I'm willing to embrace your lifestyle choices now that we're together."

"Interesting." If Booth's expression was innocent, Brennan's was the embodiment of a calm she didn't quite feel at the moment. "And what was the point of this… rather peculiar revelation?"

"I asked him if he was up for a threesome." Booth leaned forward a bit, a gleeful glint in his eyes. "I promised him you wouldn't even leave any visible marks."

A moment of silence followed this announcement.

"I see," Brennan finally replied evenly. "Considering that Dr. Sweets still hasn't come back to give you an answer, I take it that the topic of our sex life won't be coming up in therapy any more in the foreseeable future?"

Booth leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms behind his head with a lazy smile. "Doesn't look like it."


	7. The Slasher in the Scientist

**A/N: This is another fic from the "more smutty than cracky" department, written for the Sextember ficathon over at bones_ga on LJ; the prompt was: _Brennan talks Booth into trying a kinky/different/unusual sexual practice. It's up to you what it is and how it goes._**

**Given my past as a slash writer, I guess it's not surprising that I've always toyed with the idea of writing Booth with another guy, but there never was a male character on the show ****who worked for me in that regard. With this fic, I finally found a way around that problem – and I even managed to stay true to my OTP while I did it****. **

**Therefore, although this is very much a B/B story, there are explicit descriptions of m/m sex, so if that's not your thing, you know what you have to do… (Hint: reading it anyway and complaining to me afterwards isn't it ;-)**

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* * *

**The Slasher in the Scientist**

.

.

Booth stormed into Brennan's apartment and stopped dead in the middle of her living room – not because of her exasperated voice that was calling for him from the corridor, but because there was nowhere left to run if he didn't want to lock himself in the bathroom (not that he wasn't tempted).

"Booth!" Brennan, puffing like a steam engine, finally made it through the door and waddled up to him with all the gracelessness of a heavily pregnant woman who is too mad to give a damn how she looks. "Stop this, you're being completely ridiculous! I've told you, I don't have a problem with –"

"And I've told you I do!" Booth snapped back without turning around, desperately wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him so she wouldn't see his burning face.

"Booth." Brennan's tone softened, and even though he flinched when she put her hand on his shoulder, she didn't pull back. "Please look at me."

With great reluctance, Booth turned around at last, although he still couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. "Bones, I swear, I had totally forgotten that stuff was there…"

"That much was obvious from your reaction." Brennan spoke slowly and calmly, as if addressing a frightened child. "It's no big deal, really."

"Yeah, right." He still wouldn't look into her eyes. "It's just the mother of my unborn child helping me move my stuff from my apartment to our new home and coming face to face with my porn stash for her trouble."

"So? It's hardly uncommon, Booth, and I would have assumed –"

"Bones, please, can we just drop it?" Booth, now utterly mortified, turned away again, desperate for this conversation to be over. "I swear, I haven't looked at the stuff in years, and I'm going to burn it as soon –"

"Actually, I wanted to take a look at it," Brennan cut him off.

Booth whirled around. "_What_? Why on Earth…"

"I'm interested in finding out more about your sexual preferences," she explained, completely undeterred. "Don't get me wrong, I considered our sex life highly satisfactory until my doctor advised against penetrative intercourse last month, but you still seem reluctant to give me specific information about your preferred sexual activities. Therefore, your choice of pornographic material might provide me with some insights –"

"Bones, for the love of God, _stop_!" Booth was half a step away from falling to his knees and begging if that would get her to shut up. "I don't want you to go through my old porn magazines, I haven't touched them myself for years – not since…"

Brennan raised an eyebrow when the sentence petered out into embarrassed silence. "Since?"

Booth remained stubbornly quiet, although his face turned an even deeper shade of crimson. After a moment's reflection, Brennan slowly began to smile. "Is _that_ what you were talking about when I asked you whether you were sexually active? You know, back when I was dating Mark and Jason?"

Booth closed his eyes in resignation. "Just take my gun and shoot me, okay?"

"Why is this such a difficult topic for you?" There was a hint of laughter in her voice that made Booth cringe with humiliation. "Pornography is a widespread cultural phenomenon, there's nothing shameful or unusual about it! The vast majority of adult males enjoy it, and even though there's a certain societal stigma to it, I assure you that I have absolutely no problem with the knowledge that you do too!"

"But you should, okay!" Booth exploded. "You shouldn't be standing here and telling me it's fine, you should be mad and disgusted and –"

"All right, that's _enough_." Brennan's sharp tone brooked no argument. She grabbed Booth's hand and pulled him towards her bedroom before he could put up any kind of resistance. "Come with me."

"Bones, what – "

"Be quiet." She pushed him onto the bed and then started rummaging through one of the drawers in her dresser. "Since we're clearing out my apartment next week, you would probably have seen this anyway at some point, but I guess we can shorten this debate if I show it to you now."

With that, she turned towards him and dumped a stack of glossy magazines into his lap. "Here, perhaps this will make you feel better."

Booth, utterly dumbfounded, stared at the cover of the magazine on top of the stack, from which a couple dressed in black leather was staring back at him. "Are you saying that is…"

"_My_ porn collection," Brennan stated matter-of-factly. She carefully sat next to him on the bed, shifting a bit to accommodate her impressive girth, and added, "The visual part, at least. I own a wide selection of written erotica as well, but that genre isn't placed under the same kind of taboo, so it's not relevant here. Take a look."

Booth wouldn't have thought that it was possible for his jaw to drop even further, but he should have known better after eight months of sleeping with Temperance Brennan. "Are you kidding me?"

"Not at all." Brennan looked at him expectantly. "I'm hoping that the perusal of material which reflects _my_ sexual fantasies and desires will make you more comfortable with the fact that I've seen yours."

Booth swallowed, but figured that there was no way for him to tell her no right now if he didn't want to make the whole situation even worse. He quickly thumbed through the first few magazines – thankfully, the leathery stuff wasn't as extreme as he had feared, and some of the other things he saw might even have appealed to him under different circumstances, but then…

"Uh – Bones?"

Brennan raised her eyebrows at his questioning tone, but otherwise seemed unperturbed by the sight of the magazine he was holding up. "Yes?"

"This stuff is… all guys?"

She gave him a quizzical look. "You know I'm a heterosexual woman, so my interest in men really shouldn't come as a surprise to you."

"Yeah, sure, but…" Booth found himself struggling for words. "I mean, you're aware that this is _gay_ porn, yes?"

Brennan rolled her eyes. "Yes, Booth, I am aware. Plenty of heterosexual women find the erotic depiction of male homosexuality arousing; there's a whole sub-genre of gay erotica that caters specifically to a female audience."

"Seriously?"

The smirk she gave him in return was downright dirty. "You didn't assume that lesbian porn was produced mainly for lesbian women, did you?"

Booth's blush returned to its earlier nuclear brilliance at that, but thankfully Brennan decided to let him off the hook for once. Instead, she inched closer and stated in a tone that was much softer and at least half an octave lower that her earlier words, "I admit that I've had quite a few sexual fantasies that included you and another male protagonist."

"Whoa!" Booth jerked away from her as if stung. "_Seriously_ TMI here, Bones!"

She narrowed her eyes, as if deliberating something. "Does that mean that you've never imagined me in a sexual situation with another woman?"

Booth almost choked on his tongue. "No, I – I mean… of course not!"

Brennan's eyes narrowed further, making him feel very much like one of the skeletons on her table. "So you're saying that if I told you there's a videotape of Angela and me engaging in mutual manual stimulation while we're in the shower together, you'd have no interest whatsoever in watching it?"

Even half-dead from embarrassment and more than a little distracted by the sudden onslaught of mental images, Booth possessed enough relationship smarts to recognize a loaded question when he heard it. He took a deep breath, struggling to regain at least a semblance of composure, before he asked faintly, "Bones, _is_ there such a tape?"

She shook her head. "There isn't; I have to admit that I've got very little experience when it comes to same-sex acts. I once tongue-kissed another female student on a dare in college, but that's about it."

Booth was beginning to breathe easier when she blindsided him completely by adding in an almost casual tone, "What about you?"

It took him just a split second too long to react, which was enough for her to take notice. Temperance Brennan might not know the first thing about people in general, but she sure knew him.

"Booth?" Her tone was calm; gentle, even. "You seem reluctant to answer my question."

He pressed his lips together and looked away, but still didn't say anything.

"Come on." She elbowed him playfully in the ribs, as if to ease the sudden tension that was radiating off him. "Whatever the answer is, you know you can trust me with it."

Booth took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together. She had cut right to the heart of the matter – he did trust her, and if they were going to build a life together, she probably deserved to know the truth, no matter how much the prospect of _that_ conversation freaked him out.

"I… just once, a long time ago."

She didn't seem shocked by the revelation, but then, he hadn't really expected her to be. Instead, she reacted in exactly the way he had feared she would, because now that her interest was piqued, she wasn't going to let it go until she had all the answers.

"Are you saying that you had sex with another man once?"

Booth's only reply was a reluctant nod.

"And when you say 'sex', you mean..."

Booth sighed, but there was nothing for it now. "Something even Bill Clinton would have to call sex."

"Oh." She was quiet for a moment, as if deliberating; then she asked hopefully, "Will you tell me about it?"

"I… yeah, okay." It seemed to Booth that he had somehow moved through the state of utter mortification and come out on the other side, because he felt surprisingly calm. His face was burning again, but now that they'd reached this place, he was going to see this through if it killed him; he owed her that much.

Brennan scooted backwards until she was fully on the bed. It took her a while to find a comfortable position, but finally she was lying on her side, half-curled around her pregnant belly, and patted the empty space beside her. "Come here."

Booth obediently stretched out on his back next to her, although he couldn't bring himself to touch her right now. He crossed his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, figuring that this would be easier if he wasn't looking at her, and began to talk.

"Back when… after my tour in Iraq, I was having a pretty bad time, you know – gambling and stuff, and once, I went to Vegas with an army buddy of mine, Hal. He was a good guy – we weren't best buddies or anything like that, but we'd served together for a while, and he'd pulled my ass out of a pretty tight spot once. Anyway, we were in Vegas, and I kept losing until I was totally broke. Hal did better, and he let me crash in his hotel room because I had no money left to pay for my own.

We got wasted in front of the TV – and they had all these pay-TV channels, so we ended up watching some porn flick. I had never… you know, watched that kind of stuff with somebody else, but I was gone far enough not to care any more. So I'm sitting there on the couch, wondering if I should hit the shower to jerk off or just do it then and there, and I take a swig from the bottle and then hand it over to Hal, but instead of taking it from me he looks straight at the tent in my pants and says, 'I could help you with that, you know.'"

Brennan had inched a little closer while he talked; now, sensing his hesitation, she snuggled up to him and placed a calming hand on his chest. "What did you do?"

"I… I laughed." Booth cleared his throat, but his voice was still a little unsteady when he continued. "It was just so – so surreal, you know? I mean, I'd been nothing but a green kid when I'd enlisted, and I'd had all these ideas about how my life was going to be, and now here I was in that crappy hotel room in Vegas, drunk and broke and horny, and my buddy was coming on to me. It was just… I don't know, I could only laugh, and I thought, what the hell, how does it even matter any more?"

"So you told him yes?" Brennan drew up her leg and draped it over his, leaning into him as far as her belly would allow.

"I think so, it's… it's all a little fuzzy from that point. The next thing I know, he's on his knees with his head in my lap, and – well…"

He didn't finish, figuring that she had gotten the message. Brennan was quiet for a moment, but then she asked, "Did you enjoy it?"

Booth swallowed, but he _had_ decided to be honest. "You see, Bones, guys – to this day, they just do absolutely nothing for me, but… it was still the best blow job I'd ever gotten in my life until then. He… he just knew what to do, and once he'd started, I pretty much stopped thinking altogether and just let him."

Brennan was shifting her weight, obviously uncomfortable with her position, and the increasing pressure from her leg on the inside of his thigh didn't help Booth's concentration. "And then?"

There was something in her tone that made him open his eyes and look at her. Her face was inches away from his, and she looked a little flustered, as if her calm composure was finally slipping. "You really want to know the details?"

"Of course," she replied promptly. "From what you said earlier, things didn't stop at fellatio."

"They didn't." He had made it this far, he would somehow manage to tell her the rest. "Even with all the alcohol, I was close in no time at all, and then he suddenly had a finger up my ass…"

He could feel Brennan's low chuckle against his chest. "We both know how much you like that, don't we?"

Booth felt his blush returning full force when he admitted, sounding a little sheepish, "I guess that's how I found out, you know."

"Interesting." Booth had been too caught up in his own personal purgatory to pay much attention to her reaction until now, but he would have had to be dead not to recognize _that_ low, throaty tone for what it was.

"Bones, are you _getting off_ on this?"

"Does that bother you?" Jesus, she was _purring_.

Booth swallowed again, with more difficulty this time. "I… I don't know?"

"Try not to think about it, then – just go back to where you stopped. I assume the actions you described were enough for you to achieve orgasm?"

"God, yes. I came so hard that I thought I'd pass out, and when I opened my eyes again, he was still on his knees in front of me, and he said… he gave me that _look_, you know, and he said, 'Seel, you have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now.'"

Brennan's sharp intake of breath made him fall silent. When she didn't speak, Booth finally asked, hesitatingly, "Bones, you okay?"

"Very much so." In spite of her reassurance, she sounded as if she did indeed have trouble breathing. "You let him fuck you?"

After eight months of sharing her bed, Booth knew only too well that there was only one kind of situation that made her forget to be clinical in her word choices, but he honestly had no idea how to deal with the fact that _this_ admission had gotten her there. "Look, I really didn't think what I was doing, I was drunk and – "

"Booth, there's no need to justify yourself to me." Her knuckles brushed his hip as her hand slid between her thighs, and then she asked, even more breathless than before, "How was it?"

"Weird, mostly." God, she was rocking against him now. "I mean – it didn't hurt or anything like that, so it wasn't _bad_, it just… Bones, I'm sorry, I can't talk about this while you're getting yourself off next to me!"

"Then I suggest we switch," she panted without stopping the rocking motion of her hips, "you get me off, and I do the talking." Before Booth had time to wrap his mind around that, she took his hand and pushed it underneath the elastic band of her maternity pants. With minimal fumbling, she managed to guide him right where she wanted him, and it was Booth's turn to draw in a sharp breath when his fingers met slick, silky warmth. He still felt more than a little weirded out by the whole situation, but this at least was familiar, this was something he could do for her.

Brennan's free hand clutched at him when he started stroking. Mindful of the doctor's 'no penetration' rule, he merely let his fingers skim her entrance and focused his attention on her clit instead. She kept her hand on his for a moment, setting a slow, languid pace; when she was satisfied, she dug her fingers into his upper arm as if anchoring herself, and then began to speak.

"Booth, I'm imagining that scene now – you don't have to tell me how it really happened, but I'm picturing you braced against that couch, and Hal is behind you, his fingers digging into your hips as he pushes into you, slowly and carefully so he doesn't hurt you. He tells you how good you feel, how hot and tight, and you…"

She gasped when Booth pressed the heel of his hand against her mound, his fingers dipping between her folds to spread the slippery wetness before going back to her clit. "Oh yes, just like that… and you're moaning too, and he pulls back and starts thrusting, slow and steady, but you tell him to go faster, to fuck you harder – and then you start touching yourself, because you're hard again and desperate to come. You stroke yourself in synch with his thrusts, and he reaches around and covers your hand with his, both of you stroking your cock together until you cry out and come all over your fingers. He tells you how he's going to lick it off, afterwards, because he wants to taste you once more, and then he slams into you again and – oh God, yes, Booth, _yes_…"

The rest of her words were lost in a long, drawn-out moan; she tensed all over and then, with a soft, breathless sigh, went limp against him.

Booth flopped back on the bed, breathing heavily. Watching Brennan come apart under his hands from the image of _him_ on her mind had left him achingly hard, no matter how very much not in the mood he had been before and how utterly inappropriate it seemed for him to get all hot and bothered over his girlfriend casting him as the star of her personal imaginary gay porn show.

Thankfully, Brennan had her eyes closed and didn't notice his predicament; the only sound she made was her panting, and Booth could see her pulse racing against the delicate skin of her neck. He closed his own eyes, concentrated on drawing slow, steady breaths and tried to will his hard-on away.

He didn't have much luck with that, though, because Brennan's movements soon broke his concentration. When Booth opened his eyes, he saw her hovering over him with a wicked little smile on her face. As she leaned in to kiss him, she reached down to cup him through his pants and, giving him a playful squeeze, whispered against his lips, "I could help you with that, you know."


	8. Never Yet Philosopher

**A/N: My Bones muse has been refusing to talk to me for quite a while, but now poor a_mistletoe has got a tooth situation, and due to a rather unorthodox set of circumstances I feel a little responsible. So, in order to help a bit, Booth is going suffer along with her…**

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* * *

**Never Yet Philosopher**

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.

"Booth?"

Low groaning.

"Booth, are you in there?"

Drawn-out moan; door hinges creaking.

"Why are you in bed this early in the evening?"

"Toothache."

Raised eyebrows.

"I thought you had a dentist appointment this morning? Why didn't you go?"

Whimpering.

"I did."

"And the dentist…"

"…pulled it – the infection was too bad…"

Tongue-clucking.

"Tooth extraction is very unpleasant."

Glare.

"No shit, Sherlock."

Puzzled frown.

"I was merely attempting to express my sympathy, but if you prefer to be left alone…"

Puppy-eyed look.

"Hey, I didn't mean to snap."

"Because your gums hurt?"

Narrowed eyes.

"You're doing that on purpose."

Soft smile.

"I've found that distracting you sometimes works when you're not feeling well."

"Another shot of anesthetics might work even better."

Frown.

"Didn't they give you a prescription for painkillers?"

Embarrassed silence.

"Booth, don't tell me you refused it out of some misguided need to prove your toughness!"

Shifty eyes.

Mumbling.

"I'm sorry, what did you say? The swelling of your gums makes your enunciation somewhat less precise."

"Painkillers make me woozy."

"And being in pain is preferable to wooziness?"

Long-suffering sigh.

"Okay, okay, you win, Bones – you still got the rest of that Vicodin from when that killer doctor stabbed you in the arm?"

"Booth, that was prescribed to _me_, I can't just pass it on to you! Besides, it's probably expired by now."

"C'mon, Bones, those pills last almost forever… just one to take the edge off?"

"I'm not sharing my Vicodin with you!"

"Who are you, Dr. House?"

Blank stare.

"I don't know what that means."

Sigh.

"Figures. Okay, you know what, just close the door and let me die in peace."

"It's reassuring to know that you still possess your penchant for melodrama."

"Bones!"

Softening expression.

"Okay, okay, I'll check the expiration date, and I'll call your dentist and ask if it's okay for you to take Vicodin in your current condition."

Relieved sigh.

"I'll love you forever if you come back with those pills, baby."

Narrowed eyes.

"I thought you did that anyway?"

Pause.

"Uhhh… _another_ forever?"

Eyeroll.

"I guess I'd better wait until you're actually under the influence of Vicodin before I ask you to explain that concept to me."

Retreating footsteps, door closing.

Silence.

Door opening.

"Booth?"

"Huh?"

"I love you too. And don't call me 'baby'."

.

* * *

_For there was never yet philosopher that could endure the toothache patiently._ (William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing)


	9. The Nudge in the Nuptials

**AN/: This is a belated birthday present for the lovely va32h who, when offered crack for her birthday, gave me the following prompt: _Season 2, Stargazer in a Puddle, rather than run off, Angela and Hodgins stick around to host their weddingless reception. It is a wild affair and many hijinks ensue._**

**I hope you enjoy the following hijinks, bb – consider them a small thank you for the many happy hours I've spent reading your stories :-)**

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**

* * *

**The Nudge in the Nuptials**

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Angela stumbled through the wreckage of the once-splendid reception hall on slightly wobbly legs. A few barely conscious guests were still draped over various pieces of furniture, but for the most part, the vast room was empty except for the remaining alcohol fumes. Wedding or no wedding, it had been a _great_ party.

"Ange, baby?" Hodgins' voice came in through the open French doors leading to the huge balcony that Angela had side-eyed all night – it was beautiful and terribly romantic, but also kind of a safety hazard considering how many increasingly drunk people had been partying in close proximity to the low stone railing. Thankfully, Hodgins' tone was far too gleeful to indicate that he'd found out the balcony had indeed claimed a victim, although you could never be quite sure with Jack. If someone had fallen to their death into a well-placed ant heap, Jack would be sifting through bones with itsy bitsy bite marks on them with a smile on his lips and a song in his heart right now.

Shaking her head (and quickly stopping because it made the world spin much faster than it should), Angela made her way towards the morning light flooding in through the doors. It wasn't a pleasant experience considering her developing hangover, but she figured that not being able to marry Jack on account of already being married to a guy whose name and face she couldn't remember (although there were other parts of his anatomy she remembered quite vividly, not that she'd ever admit it to Jack) was no reason not to stand by him when circumstances demanded it.

Circumstances, as it turned out, came in the shape of her not-quite-husband standing next to a small wooden bench that was nestled into a corner of the balcony (and, for some reason, half-hidden behind potted hydrangeas) with a huge grin on his face and pointing towards exhibits A and B, to wit, a snoring FBI agent in a rumpled tux and a forensic anthropologist in a purple bridesmaid dress who was slumped against his shoulder.

"Look what I found." Hodgins spoke in a low voice although from the look of it, Booth and Brennan would have required a medium-sized explosion to wake them. "Aren't you glad we decided to come back for the reception?"

"Still deciding." Angela eyed the unconscious couple with practiced efficiency, taking in the utter lack of hickeys, loose pieces of clothing (Booth's dangling bow tie notwithstanding) or similar indicators that anything truly interesting might have happened here. Brennan's lipstick was smeared all over Booth's shirtfront, but that was likely due to no more than the fact that she'd gone to sleep using his chest as a pillow. "Looks like they passed out before they got to the good part."

Hodgins wrinkled his nose. "Explains why they smell like a distillery." He picked up an empty bottle by Booth's feet and whistled through his teeth. "Has it ever ended well when Dr. B and the G-man hit the tequila?"

"Makes you wonder what sent them on this little drinking binge in the first place, doesn't it?" Angela's brain might not have been working at its usual speed thanks to being pickled in alcohol, but she would have had to be dead not to get the implications. "Cam says they both looked super-spooked when we had to leave them standing at the altar all by themselves."

"Hit a little too close to home, I guess." Hodgins pondered the sleeping couple for a moment and then gave Angela a crooked grin. "You turned out to be married to some other guy, but what's their excuse?"

Angela winced a little, but wisely decided not to go down that particular road right now. There was nothing she could do about her pre-existing marital condition at the moment, but there were other uses she could put her mind to. She might not be a genius like her fiancé, her best friend and pretty much everyone else she worked with (except maybe the piece of FBI eye candy currently drooling into his partner's half-unloosened coiffure, bless him), but when it came to deviousness, these people had nothing on Angela Montenegro.

"Jack, you still got the rings?"

"Yeah, sure, it's not like…" Hodgins wasn't the love of her life for nothing; the huge grin splitting his bearded face in two told her that he'd already understood. "Ange, baby, you're _beautiful_."

"And don't you forget it." Angela gave him a small shove towards their unsuspecting targets. "You're the guy who can handle butterfly wings without damaging them, you think you can get a ring two sizes too small on an ex-sniper's finger without waking him?"

"O ye of little faith." Hodgins sounded more excited than insulted, and sure enough, the ring intended for the future Mr. Montenegro was on Booth's left ring finger in no time at all. Size wasn't even much of a problem; for all his general brick house build, Booth had really slender hands, and Angela quickly called her alcohol-addled thoughts to order before they strayed down the line of wondering what exactly a guy could to with those long, nimble fingers.

"Here, let me do Bren." She reached for the second ring, but Hodgins pulled his hand away with a leer.

"Only if I get to watch, baby."

"Now I know what to get you for our first anniversary." Angela seized the moment when Hodgins' jaw hit the floor and picked the ring out of his slackening grasp. It slid onto Brennan's finger without much resistance, and Angela had to giggle at the thought that any part of Temperance Brennan would not resist the prospect of getting subjected to the old-fashioned tool of the patriarchy also known as "marriage".

Taking a step back, she surveyed their handiwork. The partners kept sleeping in high-proof peace, and as much as she would have loved to hang around for the eventual awakening, it would have defeated the purpose of their little intervention. All she and Jack could do now was to leave on tiptoes and make sure that the cleaning crew didn't come in until early afternoon.

All in all, Angela mused, it had not been such a bad not-wedding night after all.

* * *

.

Angela didn't think much of it when Brennan didn't show up at the lab the following Monday morning; Booth had probably whisked her away at some ungodly hour of the morning to stare at a half-decayed heap of rotting bones as if there was nothing better she could let herself be whisked away for. When Brennan still hadn't come back until mid-afternoon, she went to ask Cam and was told that Brennan was taking a few personal days and might not be back for the remainder of the week.

Angela wasn't happy about this at all; their little prank had seemed terribly funny at the time, but now that reality was catching up with her, she was beginning to worry that she might have spooked her skittish best friend into doing something stupid. Brennan-style stupidity usually involved jumping onto the next airplane that would take her to a place with lots of flies, mass graves and blood-thirsty guerillas, no sanitation or cell phone reception, and most importantly no Booth.

Wincing at the thought, Angela whipped out her cell to do some damage control, but her call went straight to Booth's voicemail. Hopefully it meant that he was already on the next plane to coax Brennan into coming back from wherever she had run to, not that he'd switched it off so that nobody could trace his whereabouts while he went to shoot a dexterous entomologist and a meddling forensic artist.

* * *

.

By Thursday, Angela was freaking out. Nobody had heard a word from either Brennan or Booth all week, and even though Jack tried to reassure her that everything was fine and dandy, it wasn't lost on her that he was constantly looking over his shoulder and had begun to avoid deserted corridors. It wasn't until Friday that Cam wandered into Angela's office with an I-Know-Something-You-Don't grin on her face and a multicolored postcard in her hand.

"This one's for you; must have gotten into my mail by accident."

Angela snatched the card out of Cam's hand and yelped when she saw the tacky palm trees-and-coconut arrangement printed on the back. "FIJI?"

Cam shrugged nonchalantly, although her eyes shone with unholy glee. "I wonder where they got that idea from."

"You _knew_." If looks could kill, Cam would have been next in line for her own autopsy table, but she remained unfazed.

"I'm the boss, it's my job to know where my employees run off to. We agreed that you deserved to stew a little, though." She turned on her heel and, looking back over her shoulder, added with a smirk, "You may wanna tell Hodgins too before he starts wearing Kevlar to work."

Still fuming, Angela went to find her co-conspirator to put his mind at ease.

* * *

.

_Dear Ange, _

_took a page out of your book and found a divorce lawyer practicing out of a hut on the beach. Booth still pouting a little, but says that now he might at least get a chance to actually remember it if I ever decide to make an honest man out of him again. Got him to sign the divorce papers by promising to demonstrate all the advantages of living in sin, and you know me – I've always been a woman of my word. Give Hodgins my best._

_Love, Bren_

_PS: Honesty is overrated. Am still keeping the rings just in case. _

_Booth_


	10. The Pitfall in the Present

**A/N: My take on what might have happened after the last scene of "The Do in the Don't", written with my tongue firmly in my cheek. It's been a while since I've felt like doing an episode tag, but this one just… happened. Take that, writer's block!**

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* * *

**The Pitfall in the Present**

.

.

Booth was extremely grateful when his daughter fell asleep almost immediately after he'd changed her. He loved taking care of his baby girl, but right now all he could think of was Bones lounging around on their bed in that hot little number he'd bought her.

Okay, so maybe _lounging_ wasn't exactly Bones' style, but given what she was wearing, normal sitting or lying could probably pass as lounging too.

He tiptoed out of the nursery and made a dash for their bedroom, where he was met with the rather unexpected sight of Bones sitting on the bed in one of his old FBI t-shirts and reading a forensic journal. She looked up and gave him a smile that faded slightly when she noticed his expression.

"Is anything wrong with Christine?"

"What? – Oh, no, she was out like a light as soon as I put her back in the bassinet. Uh, I… I thought you were going to… you know?" Booth vaguely indicated the wad of semi-transparent fabric on the foot of the bed.

Bones gave a little shrug. "It doesn't fit."

_Uh-oh_. That definitely hadn't featured in any of the scenarios Booth had come up with for this moment, and it was only now that he realized just how badly his little gift could blow up in his face.

_If it's too small, she'll think she's fat. If it's too big, she'll think you think she's fat_, a cheerful voice that sounded disturbingly like Sweets spoke up in his mind. _Congrats, Booth, you officially can't win this one._

Bracing himself for the inevitable explosion, Booth managed a weak, "Oh?"

She shrugged again. "It's no big deal; you still have the receipt, don't you?

"Yeah, sure." No calm before a hurricane had ever felt so ominous. "Look, Bones, I'm sorry – I guess I should have known…" Damn, that woman at the shop had sounded so certain that everything would fit perfectly. That was her job, after all, wasn't it?

"Booth, there's a reason I try on every piece of underwear before I buy it; otherwise even I would occasionally get something that doesn't fit. It would probably have been better if you'd brought me along for the purchase, but I appreciate your effort to surprise me." She gave him a smile that made Booth even more nervous than he already was. "I admit, it's not the kind of present I would have expected from you."

"Yeah, well…" Booth cleared his throat and tried to come up with something plausible. "I figured, all women love lingerie, right?"

"Actually, that's a rather common male misconception." Now she sounded like she was about to launch into another anthropology lesson. "Since the main function of this type of garment is to be sexually arousing, most women buy it with the intent to please their chosen mate. I'd have to look up statistics to back up my claim, of course, but I would consider it more accurate to say that men love lingerie and that women love men appreciating the way they look wearing it."

"Seriously?" Booth took a step closer to the bed; since she still wasn't biting his head off, it was probably safe to do so. "I thought women were all about lace and satin and stuff."

"I can't speak for all women, of course, but in my experience that kind of underwear is more for show than for everyday use." She finally closed the journal and put it on the nightstand next to the tub of slowly melting ice cream. "Show me a woman who's happily single, and I'll show you an underwear drawer full of comfy cotton."

"The Book of Montenegro?" Booth hazarded; there was just no way that line had come from Bones herself.

She gave him an impish grin. "Angela used to have a separate drawer for 'date night' underwear. Of course, for Angela, most nights were date nights before she and Hodgins were together."

"Same goes for Daisy, obviously," Booth murmured without thinking; he only noticed his blunder when her eyebrows shot up.

"What do you mean?"

_Oh, damn_. "Uh, you know, Sweets said" – _bad move, Seeley, REALLY bad move_ – "I mean, he mentioned something about her wearing all kinds of fancy stuff – crotchless panties and so on…" He could have bitten off his tongue as soon as the words were out.

Bones' eyes narrowed. "I've shared lodgings with Miss Wick for seven months while we were in Maluku; she favors cotton panties with the day of the week printed across her buttocks. You've seen them yourself, remember?"

"I sure do now, although I was doing my best to suppress that memory." Booth shook his head as if that could dislodge the image that was forever burned into his retinas. Sweets was going to pay for this. "Bones, you know I didn't buy you lingerie because I don't like the things you usually wear, right?"

"Yes, I know." She sounded perfectly serene, and Booth finally dared to sit down next to her on the bed although he still felt like he was walking through a minefield with a blindfold over his eyes. "It seems rather unlike you to discuss Miss Wick's choice of underwear with Sweets, though."

"Well, he just wouldn't shut up about it, he was like a kid in a candy store in that shop…"

Booth faltered when he saw the rapid change in her expression, mentally replayed his last words and realized with growing horror just what he'd let slip.

"Dr. Sweets was with you when you bought this for me?" Her tone was way too calm for his liking.

"No, of course not! I kicked him out of the shop and told him to wait in the car because he kept trying to…"

"Then why was he there in the first place? Aren't you the one who always insists that I shouldn't share details about our sexual activities with third parties? Angela _really_ wanted to see that naked picture of you, you know."

Booth took a deep breath and decided that honesty was the only thing that might still save him now. "Okay, so the whole lingerie thing was his idea. I didn't want to tell him, but I was worried about you after what you said in the morning, and he just wouldn't stop needling me…"

"Doesn't he always?" Bones reached out towards him and placed her hand on his arm. "Booth, it's safe to assume that Sweets has been sexually active for less than a decade, so why would you take advice from someone whose experience doesn't even come near your own?"

Booth opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, she continued, "Or is there a problem that I'm not aware of? If that's the case, I'd prefer it if you told me first before you seek advice from somebody else."

Sweets was going to _die_. "Bones, there's absolutely nothing wrong, okay? Nothing, nada, zip, zilch – you're beautiful and sexy and hot and…"

She cut his babbling off with a kiss. "Thank you; I greatly enjoy having intercourse with you as well."

Booth made a face at 'intercourse', but he was aware he was in no position to complain right now. "That's good to know."

"Can we get started, then?" She deftly began to undo the buttons on his shirt and gave him a saucy little smile when she noticed his dumbfounded expression. "What, you thought we weren't going to have sex just because the lingerie doesn't fit? I'm sure we can manage without it."

Booth didn't need to be told twice; in a surprisingly short time, both their clothes had joined his discarded present on the foot of the bed, the floor, and some other surfaces that really didn't matter now.

"Booth?"

"Hm?"

"You know that if you ever talk to Sweets about our sex life again, I'm going to give the omelet photo to Angela with my explicit permission to put it on the Jeffersonian intranet?"

Booth was busy placing a string of soft little kisses on her collarbone and didn't even look up. "Yeah, I figured as much."


	11. The Rodent in the Relationship

**A/N: I'm struggling with a bout of general fandom blues that led to a massive case of writer's block, and trying my hand at something light-hearted often helps with that. My apologies to those who are waiting for the next chapter of "All My Yesterdays" – I'm working on it, and hopefully this silly little piece will get the creative juices flowing again.**

**Written for the "What if?" comment fic meme over at the bones_ga LJ community; the prompt was: ****_Maggots in the Meathead - what if Hannah hadn't asked Brennan for help with finding the perfect gift for Booth?_**

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* * *

It must be the most awkward housewarming party Angela has ever been to.

She and Cam are about to beat a strategic retreat when Hannah tells Booth that she has a housewarming gift for him and hands him a wrapped parcel with something rattling inside. Booth grins as he tears the paper, but his grin slips a little when he realizes he's holding a hamster cage, complete with a tiny wheel and everything.

And, of course, a hamster.

Angela and Cam dutifully go "Awwww" as Hannah beams and Booth visibly tries not to wince. Brennan doesn't react at all except for a slight narrowing of her eyes as she looks at Booth and Hannah in a way that's usually reserved for the bones on her table.

They all know the deal with Booth and small furry animals, of course, but the significant glances they're dying to exchange will have to wait until they've finally made it out of the door.

Awkward, awkward, very awkward indeed.

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* * *

They may no longer have the easy rapport they used to, but Brennan is still attuned enough to Booth's mood to realize how tense he is the moment she climbs into his SUV.

"Are you all right?"

"Sure." The answer is curt; the underlying message _I don't want to talk about it_ couldn't be clearer if he'd said it out loud.

"Only, you seem very tense."

"I'm fine."

Brennan shrugs and starts talking about the case, but his answers remain monosyllabic. She decides to change tack.

"Have you decided on a name yet?"

Booth does a double-take; at least she got through to him this time. "What are you talking about?"

"The hamster Hannah gave you," she explains patiently. "What are you going to call it?"

"Do I look like a guy who thinks up names for hamsters?" He sounds angry now, but Brennan has become very good and not letting it get to her.

"I assume it would hurt Hannah's feelings if you didn't – a pet is usually considered a very significant gift in a relationship. The willingness to take care of a living creature together is a strong sign of commitment."

He doesn't take the bait; the stony expression is back. "I guess."

"It's unfortunate that Hannah didn't know about your murophobia."

"Huh?" He casts her a sidelong glance that's more than a little hazardous in the middle of DC traffic. Knowing him, he's now digging through the remains of his altar boy Latin to avoid having to ask the obvious question. "What makes you think I'm afraid of walls?"

Brennan shakes her head. "Not from _murus_, wall – the term 'murophobia' is a coinage from the taxonomic adjective 'murine' for the _Muridae_ family that encompasses mice and rats. It basically means the fear of small rodents."

Booth shoots her a glare. "I'm not afraid of rodents, okay? I just happen to hate hamsters."

"Many people think they're cute."

"I don't see what's cute about smelly furballs with terminal overbite and mean little eyes." Booth suppresses a shudder. "And they're all squiggly when you touch them."

"Why did you touch it if you don't like it?"

He makes a face. "Hannah wanted me to take it out of the cage and look at it up close."

"Is that how you found out that it has mean eyes?"

"I'm glad you're having fun at my expense, Bones."

"I'm not making fun of you." Brennan does her best to sound clinical. "A phobic fear of rodents is a socially induced conditioned response that originates in the startle response common in many animals, including humans. It's one of the most common specific phobias, and it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I feel so much better already." His tone is sarcastic, but it isn't lost on Brennan that he's blushing – to Booth, admitting to an irrational fear means showing weakness, and it's not something he'll ever be comfortable with.

"There are several therapeutic approaches; I'm sure Sweets would be –"

"Whoa!" The car swerves for a moment. "Bones, you are absolutely not telling Sweets about this, do you hear me? He's breathing down my neck already these days, and I –"

He clamps his mouth shut before he can say anything else, which of course piques her curiosity. "You what?"

"Forget it."

"Okay." Brennan reaches into her purse. "I assumed you would react like that, so I got you this."

Booth takes the small piece of paper she hands him and gives it a suspicious look. The overall appearance should be familiar to him; according to the research she's done on the topic, these colorful, somewhat gaudy pictures are very popular among Catholics and often used as bookmarks in bibles and prayer books.

"Bones, did you just give me the picture of a saint?"

"She's Saint Gertrude of Nivelles, the patron saint of suriphobics – people who fear mice. She's also invoked against rats and mice in general. I couldn't find a saint who's supposed to help with other rodents, so I figured she was the best fit."

"Where on earth did you find this?"

"Online research."

"You don't even believe in God, let alone in saints."

"But you do."

Booth is quiet for a long while; he's careful to keep his eyes on the road, and Brennan is equally careful not to let him notice that she's watching him. At long last, he slides the picture into the pocket of his suit jacket and says, "Thanks, Bones."

"You're welcome."

Booth gives her a calculating look. "So, a sign of commitment, huh?"

"That seems to be the societal consensus, yes. It's…" She stops herself just in time, but of course Booth would choose this exact moment to start paying close attention again to what she's saying.

"It's what?"

"Nothing."

"Bones!"

Brennan sighs; he won't let it go now, and she hates lying to him. "It's just that… hamsters have rather short life spans."

Booth gives her another sidelong glance. "You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, otherwise I wouldn't have said it."

"Huh." He thinks about it for a moment, then shakes his head and says lightly, "Well, at least it means the whole ordeal will be over pretty soon."

"Yes." Brennan keeps her tone carefully neutral. "I hope it will."


	12. The Retcon in the Relative

**Warning: this story was inspired by one specific season 8 spoiler that was released today, so it's not for those who want to stay completely spoiler-free.**

**It's also pure, unapologetic crack, with a generous helping of meta on the side. Therefore, please to be reading it with your tongue firmly in your cheek ;-)**

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**The Retcon in the Relative**

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"Your MOTHER?" Brennan almost dropped the tibia she was examining. "What do you mean, your mother called? You told me your mother was dead!"

"I never said that!" Booth suddenly found a spot over her right shoulder very interesting – the lab sure had changed since he'd last been here. Well, it _had_ been a while. "I just… insinuated."

"_Heavily_ insinuated, I daresay!" Brennan carefully put the tibia down to make sure that the only bones she broke in the course of this conversation would be Booth's. "And you were so vague about it that I was hesitant to ask for details because I assumed talking about it was painful for you, and I would get yelled at for being insensitive again!"

"I never _yelled_ at you for being insensitive! Chided you, maybe…"

"Don't change the topic, or I'm going to start _chiding_! Where on earth has she been all these years, and why is she only showing up now?"

Booth chose to stare at the tips of his shoes (yep, still those horrible ones) for a change. "I don't want to talk about it, Bones."

"You don't want to talk about it?" Brennan stepped away from the table to keep her precious bones (not Booth's) safe in case things got out of hand. "_You_ don't want to talk about your personal life with _me_? After forcing every last detail about my own past out of me because I 'needed to open up'?" She took another step towards him, and Special Agent Seeley Booth, ex-sniper and alpha male extraordinaire, came _very_ close to taking a hasty step back. He heroically resisted, of course (the fact that he was already leaning against the platform railing and had nowhere left to go had nothing to do with it, thank you very much). "We are in a committed sexual relationship, we share a residence, we have a child together, for god's sake – metaphorically speaking, of course –, and you refuse to talk to me about your _mother_? How would you like me to do some opening up on your cranium with a can opener?"

Another step; they were almost nose to nose now. In contrast to her flashing eyes, Brennan's voice was low and dangerously calm (under different circumstances, it would have been a huge turn-on, but this isn't _that_ kind of fic) when she commanded, "Talk."

No way out, then. "She was in jail, okay? And I never told anyone because how the hell would that look on a guy who's in _law enforcement_? But now she's getting out, and she called me and told me she wants to meet me! I haven't visited her in thirty years, you'd think she'd get the hint!"

Brennan's eyes narrowed. "Maybe she heard that you made _me_ reconcile with my convicted felon of a parent?"

Damn, he'd walked straight into that one. "Your father never killed –" _Oh wait…_

"She's in jail because she killed someone? Who?"

"My grandmother, okay?" Booth had had enough of the third degree. "Pops told me she and Nana Booth got into a fight over a cake recipe for my tenth birthday, and my mother hit her over the head with a rolling pin! Why do you think I only eat pie? I'm traumatized here, Bones!"

"Oh." To Booth's great relief, Brennan seemed to relent a little. "Is that why you never mentioned your grandmother either?"

Booth huffed. "Yeah, rub it in, will you? Do you think it's easy to deal with the fact that your mom brained your grandma with a cooking utensil? Don't you have a shred of empathy, woman?"

"I'll have to ask Angela about that. Excuse me for a moment…"

Booth stared after her; he didn't remember that they had an audience until Hodgins spoke up at his elbow.

"Your mom, huh?" He threw a wary glance at Brennan's retreating form and added under his breath, "I just hope she doesn't ask Angela what happened to hers."

Booth gave him a puzzled look. "I thought I'd heard somewhere that Angela's mother is in England?"

Hodgins gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. "You do know what they mean when they say that, no?"

Booth blanched. "Oh shit."

Hodgins winked at him. "Yup, pretty much."


	13. Tying the Knot

**Warning: This ficlet contains spoilers for the season 8 finale – and a fair helping of crack, of course ;-)**

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**Tying the Knot**

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Temperance Brennan was frowning at something when Angela walked into her office.

"Hey, Sweetie, what's up? You look all pinchy."

Brennan's frown deepened. "I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean, but I found this on my desk when I came back from lunch."

Angela stepped closer. "Looks like a piece of string to me."

"It is." Brennan held up the object in question; it was neon pink and had the appearance of something filched from a small child's toy loom. "There are knots in it."

"Well, that happens when a piece of string is lying around. Why is it important?"

"It probably isn't; it just feels like a strange coincidence because I seem to come across a lot of knots lately." Noticing Angela's puzzled face, she added, "This morning, there were knots in my favorite necklace, and then Christine somehow managed to tie several knots into her shoelaces even though she has never been able to do that before."

"Well, there you have it then – the mini genius worked out how to tie knots and is practicing all over the place now."

Brennan shook her head. "That's what I assumed at first too, but then I found knots in the charging cable of my cell phone, and I never leave that where she can reach it."

Angela shrugged. "Cables have a way of tying themselves into knots all the time."

"No they don't." Brennan finally put the offending piece of string aside, but she didn't seem ready to let go of the topic. "Knots don't just appear by themselves; they require some kind of outside force, and in most cases that force is applied by human hands." She brightened a little when a thought occurred to her. "The Incas even devised the _quipu_, the Talking Knots, which were used as a kind of writing. I read a fascinating book about it a while ago…"

Angela cut her off before she could slip into full anthro mode. "That's really cool, Sweetie, but could you take a look at this reconstruction instead of your knots now? I'm sure they don't mean anything."

Brennan sighed. "You're probably right." She still made a mental note to ask Booth about the book – she had been looking for it last night because she wanted to re-check the Incan knotting patterns, but for some reason it had been missing from its place on the shelf. Maybe Booth had seen it.

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As she had expected, Booth scoffed at the insinuation that he might have had anything to do with the disappearance of a book about Incan _anything_. "You're kidding, right?"

Brennan eyed the empty spot on the bookshelf with dismay. "Then I really don't know where I put it."

Booth shrugged and turned back to the TV. "You probably lost it somewhere."

He felt a little bad about the remark when she exited the room in a huff – he knew that it would be a cold day in hell before Bones lost one of her anthropology books, and that the mere suggestion probably felt like an attack on her scientific integrity to her, but he hadn't been able to think of another way to end the conversation before it tipped off the invisible foe who might be watching their every move right now.

It was no good anyway – either he sucked even worse at any kind of handicraft than he had assumed until now, or that old Incan knot writing just hadn't been designed to convey the message _I didn't want to call off the engagement, Pelant forced me to do it_.

Booth ran a hand though his hair in frustration; he was beginning to run out of options. Morse code was too obvious and Braille too nondescript – Bones had just scooped up all those dots of ketchup with his fries without noticing the patterns, and he couldn't even tap them into her skin while they were safely under the covers at night (they _were_ still safe under the covers, right? Was there a way to bug a duvet?) because she was ticklish as hell and started squealing whenever he tried. Scratching a message into her bar of soap had been a total bust because it had made her think that Christine had gnawed at it, and the artfully arranged blobs of toothpaste foam in the sink had only made her wrinkle her nose and call him a slob.

He had really had high hopes for the Incan knots because they were so _anthropological_. The Native American _wampum_ thingie had looked promising too, but you needed beads for that, and Christine didn't have any among her toys because Bones claimed that she might swallow them. He could have cut up one of Bones' beloved bead necklaces, of course, but while he was definitely getting desperate, he wasn't anywhere near suicidal so far.

Booth sighed and resigned himself to the fact that there probably was no way around that ancient Celtic – or had it been Germanic? then again, who cared? – thing with the runes carved into wooden sticks that he had postponed until now because he wasn't sure how Bones would react if he carved up one of her fancy non-toxic wooden cooking spoons.

Damn the Incas.


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